“Ah,” she cried at last, clenching her small hands and starting to her feet in a sudden frenzy of despair which amazed him, “if you only knew the horror of it all—ah! if you only knew, m’sieur, you would, I am sure, pity me.”
“Horror of it!” he gasped. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing—nothing,” she said hastily, in a voice thick with emotion. “Let us return. We must get back. He will be so angry at my absence.”
“Then you really fear him!” Waldron exclaimed in surprise.
She made no reply. Only as he laid his hand lightly upon her arm to guide her back along the dark path to where the native boat was moored, he felt her shudder.
He walked in silence, utterly bewildered at her sudden change of demeanour. What could it mean? In his career as a diplomat in the foreign capitals he had met thousands of pretty women of all grades, but none so sweet or so dainty as herself; none with a voice so musical, not one whose charm was so ineffable.
Yes, against his own inclination he had become fascinated by her, and already he felt that her interests were his own.
They stepped into the boat, being greeted by salaams from the black-faced crew, and then began to row back.
She uttered not a word. Even when one of the boys brought out the big tom-tom from beneath the seat, she signed to him to put it away. Music jarred upon her nerves.
Waldron sat in wonder, uttering no word, and the black-faced crew were in turn surprised at the sudden silence. Ali spoke some low, soft words in Arabic to his companions which, had the pair been acquainted with that language, would have caused them annoyance. “They are lovers,” he remarked wisely. “They have quarrelled—eh?” And to that theory the two boys agreed.